A terrible revelation came by sheer chance. My four-year-old sister, Lucy, had developed an umbilical hernia. The doctors insistedno delays. The sooner the surgery, the better. Lucy refused point-blank to go to the hospital without Dad. We waited until he returned from his lorry route, and he walked her right to the operating room.
“Daddy, will you wait here for me?” my sister sobbed.
“Where else would I go, sweetheart? Of course Ill wait. Why are you crying? Youre my brave girl.”
“Im not crying, Im just sighing!”
And they wheeled her away. A routine procedure, nothing complicated. But the hospital required Mum and Dad to donate bloodnon-negotiable.
“Her blood type only matches one of us, right?” Dad asked. “Shouldnt you test first? So we dont give more than necessary.”
“Theres no such thing as too much blood!” the doctor said firmly.
Mum and Dad donated. Mum looked pale, swaying like she might faint. Afterward, she couldnt sit stillkept pacing, talking to the nurses. When Lucy was finally wheeled out, Dad went to meet her as promised. He stayed with her the whole weekend. Mum seemed calmer, checked on Lucy, then dragged me home despite my protests.
“I could stay with her too,” I insisted stubbornly.
I was eleven by then. Lucy, my little blonde sister, was my whole world. Maybe even more than Mum and Dad. How could anyone not love her? An angel. A golden-haired angel in the flesh.
Picture a small market town with its modest hospitalnew, well-equipped, even had a blood bank. But a towns a town. Three days later, Lucy was home, and Dad was packing for another haul. He went out for cigarettesbut came back looking like a storm cloud.
“Daddy!” Lucy wailed from her room (she was still on bed rest). “Did you bring my marshmallows?”
Dad left the shopping bag in the hallway. Told me sharply to go to Lucys room. He grabbed Mums arm and pulled her into the kitchen.
“John John, whats wrong?”
The kitchen conversation stayed hidden from us for yearsLucy was too young, and I obeyed Dad without question. She whined for Daddy and sweets, so I offered to read to her. Thank God, she agreed.
In the kitchen, John, eyes wild, backed Emma against the wall until she had nowhere to go.
“Is it true? Lucy isnt mine?”
“WhatJohn, are you mad? How could you say that?”
“Heres what Im saying. My bloods A-positive. Yours is O-positive. Hers” he jerked his head toward the door, “is B-negative. If theres a mistake, well test again.”
Emma shoved him away, slumped at the table, and groaned into her hands.
“Bastards. I *told* them not to! Why do they always interfere? Theyre jealous, John. Weve got everything. Even perfect little children.”
“You *told* them? Right. Got it.”
He left her crying in the kitchen. Just one slipout of boredom, with some engineer passing through. Dad was always on the road. In films, lorry drivers are romantic. In reality? Lonely and cold. Emma told herself he probably wasnt faithful eitherweeks away at a time. She bolted after him, but he was already gone. Only a box of marshmallows remained on the table.
After his next haul, Dad sat me down. Asked me to leave with him.
“Dad, what about Lucy? Mum? Cant you stay?”
It felt like a boulder had been dropped on me. Rocks are layeredId seen documentaries. The weight on my shoulders wasnt uniform either. Fear of losing Dad. Fear of choosing. Either way, Id lose someone. A quick mental tally decided it: Lucy + Mum outweighed Dad. Though Lucy alone mightve tipped the scales.
Dad met me often after that. Lucy? Forgotten. I didnt understand, but if he couldve explained, he wouldve. At first, Lucy cried for himheartbreaking to watch. But slowly, she asked less. She withdrew, playing alone with her toys. I didnt know why this punishment fell on her, but I could guess. As for Mum
Mum lost it. She dragged junk home from skips. First harmless, useful things. Then anything. She stopped caring about us entirely, muttering over her treasures. How a young, beautiful woman could turn into *that* in eighteen months baffled me. But I never told Dad. Our neighbor, Mrs. Wilkins, helped sometimes. Dads child support covered food, but the stench soaking our flat? School was brutal, but I avoided fights.
“Mrs. Wilkins, could you teach me to iron?” I knocked on her door.
“Oliver, love, you need to *wash* them first” She wrinkled her nose.
“Pointless. I tried. But Im seeing Dad tomorrow, and I cant look like this”
“Does he not” She gasped. “He doesnt know about Emma?”
“I wont tell him. He left. Its not his problem!”
She let me in, then paused. “Bring Lucy too. Ill fix you both up. Bring your clotheschange here. Whatever you need.”
So we did. At least I didnt reek at school anymore. But kind Mrs. Wilkins didnt stop there. She shamed Dad. He met me after school.
“Why didnt you tell me?”
“Why? Would you have come back?”
“No. But you couldve lived with me.”
“And Lucy?”
Silence. I shook my head and turned toward home.
“Wait! Lucy could stay with Gran.”
“Grans got a new bloke. Shes not interested.”
“Right. Takes after” Dad cut himself off.
He tried talking to Gran anyway.
“John, are you daft? Why would I want little kids? Im starting over!”
“But Lucys your granddaughter!”
“Pity.”
“*What?*”
“Pity motherhoods obvious, but fatherhood isnt. If Id had a son, who knows if his kids were really mine? But her? Shes mine. And Ive got my own life.”
“Yeah. Shouldve taken a closer look at you before marrying Emma.”
One morning, Mum was gone. Her hoard remainedshed only spared mine and Lucys roombut shed vanished. I opened the window; icy air diluted the stench. Fed Lucy, forced down breakfast, then took her to Mrs. Wilkins.
“Mums gone. Ive got school.”
“Gone? In this freeze? Where?”
My reckless, broken mother ended her days on a distant landfill. Why she froze instead of coming home, no one knew. Mrs. Wilkins said social services would decide our fate now.
And they came. The woman glanced at our flat and turned to Mrs. Wilkins.
“Could we handle the paperwork at yours?”
“Of course.” Mrs. Wilkins shrugged.
“Stop.” Dads voice echoed up the stairs. “No ones going anywhere. Just got back. These are my kids.”
“The flat yours too?” Social Services smirked.
Dad didnt even look inside. “Pack your things, Oliver. Were leaving. Well sort this out later.”
“Lucy?” I whispered, terrified.
“Obviously. Lucy, you too.”
My sister peeled herself from the wall and shuffled toward him.
“Daddy?”
“What, love?”
“Is it really you?”
He scooped her up, holding her tight, exhaling hard.
“Its me. Im here. Everythings fine.”
“Dont leave again, Daddy!” Lucy wailed.
I froze. Shed give us away, and that stern woman would take us despite having a living father. But the social worker had lost interest, gossiping with Mrs. Wilkins. And Dadtears streamingheld Lucy, his resentment finally crumbling. Hed tried so hard to blame her too, to stay away, but love won. Love for us. His children.
“I wont. Im never leaving you again.” His voice broke.
